Tax Returns
by emerald1198
Summary: For her, it's like the future is deteriorating all around, even though it's all still there. And for him, well frankly he doesn't even know what he's standing on, because everything he thought was real just isn't. Drew/Clare. One-shot.


**Weird. This is just plain weird. But it's like I can't get anything else out, or think of anything else to say really. So I'm just going to post it. Vague and cut-up as is. There's a chance I'll look at this later and be appalled.**

**And oh yes, it **_**has**_** been awhile.**

.

.

.

She doesn't come to notice it for a while – or maybe, she just doesn't come to admit it – but the truth is, New York, as a city and a home and a wonder, changes somehow when he goes back there. Like it's not some light show of a place anymore, bubbling up with life and dreams.

Instead, it's just another city in the world, one where someone just happens to be waiting for her.

…

It occurs to him, at no particular time of no particular significance really, that Adam died just before football season started. It wasn't like he was a life-devoted fan or anything; in fact, he'd only taken a liking to the sport once Drew stopped playing it – head problems and all. After that, Drew would find him watching in the basement or reading the sports section in the paper from time to time – proving something to the cocky big brother and all.

Drew remembers, one time, after a big fight about nothing, Adam had looked over his own shoulder and muttered, "You know, sometimes I'm glad you got that concussion. It knocked all that room to talk right out of you."

Anyway, him dying before football season isn't really a big deal, Drew guesses. Things happen all year-round. The truth is, no matter when someone dies, you can always find a coincidence that makes it a little worse, that makes you wish he had just a little more time.

.

.

.

They don't talk about it for a while.

Drew figures it's just going to pass over, because he knows it can, and Clare reasons that sooner or later, they're going to have to address it, because she knows it can't. But _she_ holds it in, bottles it up, locks it away – because she knows _he_ wants to forget. And _he _tosses it around in his brain, words it and rewords at night, wrangles out the courage and clumsiness – because he knows _she_ wants to talk about it.

And it all kind of plays out like this:

(Keep in mind, this is in the confines of the student council closet, after a meeting. But this place isn't a real _closet, _cramped and secluded and a universal spot for secret sex. It's this big room, the size of a bathroom or something, with boxes toppling over each other and chalky, add-water paint cans stacked up against the wall. So, it's not all that weird.)

Drew: So, are we ever going to talk about . . . you know, the _thing?_

Clare (flushing, shrugging): I mean, we don't have to. I don't think there's too much to say. We could just let it go if you want.

Drew: Um. Yeah. Alright. Sounds good.

Clare: . . . _But_ I mean, maybe it would do us a little good. Like maybe it'll just be better if we get it all out in the open, you know? And then it's over, and we can stop thinking about it. Not that I've been thinking about it a ton – o-or that I'm suggesting _you've _been thinking about it a ton. I don't know, I just think that when things like this happen, people should talk about them.

Drew (smiling, chuckling): Yeah, I kind of figured you'd have that viewpoint. But I'm sort of an idiot when it comes to this kind of stuff, so if you want to start – and finish, even (snort) – that'd be great.

Clare (still flushing, still kind of shrugging): Uh, yeah, yeah, sure. Well . . . I guess I just want you to know that I'm sorry. For kissing you, I mean. I was really upset, with everything happening with Eli, and I didn't see how I could ever forgive him or how it could ever be the same, so I just did it. Because you were there, and you have really, soft-looking lips – and oh, my God, I can't believe I just said that. I feel like I'm in a book or a movie or something, just blabbering on, because people never actually talk like this in real life.

Drew (still smiling, still chuckling): It's alright. I'm sorry too. It didn't really mean a whole lot to me either, if that's what you're worried about. I was a little on the confused side at the time. So, it's all good.

Clare: Okay, so it's all good.

Drew: Yeah. And I hope you know Eli's really lucky. Like, to have someone so understanding.

Clare: I'm not going to kiss you again.

Drew: Oh, no that's – I wasn't going for – I just kind of meant in the platonic "you're cool and he's lucky to have you" kind of way.

Clare: Oh! Gosh, yeah. Okay. I'm sorry. That was so presumptuous on my part.

.

.

.

Eli stops calling every night, starts being a little blunter about it when he's busy and can't talk to her. It seems he's gotten over the soft, contrite phase that comes after a guy cheats on a girl, and now he's back to normal life – to taking for granted the girl whom he not only almost drove away, but for God's sake, the one who almost died of cancer this summer.

But the thing is, none of that is true.

Eli loves her more than ever, and she's just tired of looking at his eyes.

…

He knows he's being stupid – it's plain and obvious, and he should just stop. His mom cries at night over her dead son, and cries during the day over tax returns (that are really her dead son). She doesn't have time to think about things like his bogus engagement. She doesn't look at him any differently than she did before Bianca left. Right now, he's just the only son she has left, and she could care less to try and decide whether or not he's an idiot.

But that way she hugged him – that one-armed, half-hearted, aw-too-bad sort of hug. Like it was puppy love or something. Like the ring he returned was a plastic one that popped out of machine.

Like she knew the whole time.

.

.

.

"He's an idiot, you know. Like a full-fledged, born-and-bred idiot. I can't even begin to figure it out – what he could have possibly been thinking."

"Really?"

"No. Actually, he's just a boy. And I know exactly what he was thinking."

.

.

.

"I should have known. And I'm not just saying that because it sucks, I'm saying it because I really should have. Who gets married at eighteen?"

"People like you. People who figure out things that nobody else ever does, or at least not until it's too late."

"But not people like her."

"Yeah, not people like her."

.

.

.

"Actually, I just thought about it, and that's complete bullshit."

"Yeah, maybe."


End file.
